


now you see it all

by apathetic_revenant



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Brief references to past trauma, Emotions, Familial bonding, Friend Bonding, Gen, Post-Weirdmageddon, bonding for everyone, lots of hugging, obligatory Princess Bride jokes, precisely one expletive
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-23
Updated: 2017-07-23
Packaged: 2018-12-06 00:29:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11589294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apathetic_revenant/pseuds/apathetic_revenant
Summary: In which Wendy goes looking for the Pines family in the aftermath of Weirdmageddon, discoveries are made, injuries are healed, and an after-party is held.





	now you see it all

**Author's Note:**

> just filling in some gaps.

 

After everything she had been through over the past week, Wendy Corduroy wouldn't have thought _anything_ could freak her out any more, much less something as innocent as an old house in the woods at twilight. But the way the fading light and the long shadows of the trees fell on the ruin of the Mystery Shack, the way the crumbled building looked as if it had sat abandoned in the forest for years, the eerie silence and stillness unbroken by any apparent signs of life-it all put a cold twinge in her stomach.

She didn't know what she was going to find here.

And God, the Shack _was_ a wreck. Well, not real surprising, she told herself; they _did_ turn it into a giant mecha and fight a--demon? Demigod? Really pissy walking trigonometry? Whatever. But everything else in town seemed to have...snapped back, like nothing had ever happened. _They_ were all still battered and bruised, but the town didn't show a hint of having been turned into a demonic weirdscape and run roughshod over for the better part of a week. She guessed she'd been assuming-or maybe just hoping-that the Shack would be back to normal as well. It was in the right place, at least, and it _was_ considerably more house-shaped than it had been the last time she saw it, but it looked like it'd been hit by a wrecking ball or three.

She honked the horn of the van a few times before hopping out, leaving the headlights on to stare sadly at the ruined porch. There were no lights on in the Shack, but then again, there probably _weren't_ any lights in the Shack at this point, at least not ones that were connected to anything useful. So that didn't mean anything, necessarily. But it would have been very nice if there was some kind of sign that someone was there.

“Hello?” she called, trying to swallow down the cold feeling that was creeping up from her stomach into her throat. “Anyone home?”

For a moment there was no response, and she started to think that--but then a couple of small figures came to the door and her heart turned over. “Wendy?”

“ _Guys!_ ”

Then she was running, and they were running, and they all met halfway in some kind of uncoordinated assault-embrace, everyone hugging each other in an arrangement that made up for in enthusiasm what it lacked in dignity. And no, she was not crying, she was just happy to have found them both alive, and Mabel's particularly intense hugging was making her eyes water a bit, _dang_ that girl was strong.

Somewhere around then she noticed the awkward look on Dipper's face and hastily disentangled herself, realizing that this might be a bit of a difficult situation considering, well, _things_. Poor guy already nearly died of embarrassment about fifty times a week. But then he let out a quiet “owwww” and rubbed at his side, and she realized that for once his discomfort had an entirely different source.

“Oops,” she said, grinning rather sheepishly. “Bit sore, huh?”

“Bit,” he admitted. “I forgot about Bill dropping us on the floor...and, uh, well, there were a lot of things, really-”

“Whoa, hey. You guys are okay, right?” _Priorities_ , Wendy. Scene isn't clear yet.“What did he do to you? Are you-”

“We're okay,” they both said, but there was something a little... _flat_ about it. Which didn't sound right at all, coming from these two.

“Everyone's accounted for back in town,” she told them. “Everyone's--well, not uh, not _okay_ , exactly, but there's no casualties. Somehow. But you guys just up and vanished, man! Soos ran off to find you but he didn't come back and we were all super concerned for you--I mean, we don't really know what happened, but we know you all had something to do with it. You're heroes, guys!”

She knew that much. She knew because she remembered--something. She had seen something, _witnessed_ something, but trying to think about that meant she had to think about where, exactly, she was when it was happening, and--and she thought it would be best if she never thought about that again.

But it didn't matter because she didn't have to think about that to know that the Pines family had saved the day. She knew that because she knew _them_.

The twins were looking at each other guiltily. “We've...been here,” Dipper said. “We didn't think about-”

“Hey, it's okay, dude! I'm just glad to know you're all okay. Uh. You... _are_ all okay, right...?”

The way they hesitated made that cold feeling suddenly rise up all over again, like she'd just swallowed a stomach full of ice cubes.

“We're all _going_ to be okay,” Mabel said, with a kind of desperate determined optimism that didn't sit well with Wendy, not compared to the girl's usual effortless, boundless cheer.

“Well,” she said slowly, trying to figure all this out, “that's...good-?”

“Kids?”

They all jumped, spooking like scared rabbits at the little noise. Boy, had it been a long week.

Someone else had come to the doorway of the Shack (that was all it was, she realized just now, a doorway, no door in sight) and for a moment when she looked up at him Wendy thought-but no, it wasn't Stan, of course not, the silhouette was all wrong. Stan was a big guy, big barrel chest, big paunch, big voice, big personality, at least when he thought people were looking. Stan took up space. Stan's brother, now-not like she knew him real well, or at all, really, but she figured he could take up space too. He was tall like Stan and you could kind of tell he had the same big block chest even if the rest of him was all lean and compact, and he could certainly draw attention like Stan, although his technique was less _hey folks look at me I'm the most interesting thing in the room_ and more _I could blow something up at any moment_.

But the man leaning against the doorframe, squinting into the light from the car, seemed...small. All slumped and scrunched up, all folded in on himself, like he was trying to collapse himself out of existence. And maybe Wendy didn't know him real well but she knew that _that_ couldn't bode well for anyone.

“Hey,” she said, waving like everything was normal and good and cool and the air wasn't full of horrible uncomfortable silence. “I just came by to check up on you guys-well, I came by to _find_ you guys, actually. Everyone's kind of like, uh. Looking for you.” She felt a bit guilty saying that to his face because, truthfully, people were worried about the kids and about Stan but no one had said much of anything about Stan's brother. Except Old Man McGucket, but no one understood him anyway.

Still, even with that in mind she didn't expect him to stare back at her like she was speaking some language he didn't get and say, “Why?”

She gaped back at him. “Uh, cause you're, like, _the heroes of the hour?_ And we're all super worried about you cause we couldn't find you in town with everyone else? And-” She caught that last one just in time because nope, nope, nope, she was _not_ going to say, not right here and right now, that she and a whole lot of other people who didn't want to say it out loud either had thought that maybe this whole victory had been, what was the word? Pyrrhic. That whatever had taken _him_ out had taken them out too, that they had all gone down together like the monster and the wizard in that movie.

“Oh.” Something seemed to occur to him and he straightened a little bit, pulling himself up against the doorframe. “Everyone else? Is-is everyone-”

“Everyone's fi- everyone's _alive_ , man. We all just sorta...poofed back into town like nothing happened. We did a headcount and everyone's there.”

Ford sagged back down in relief. “I didn't even think about...I should have. I _should_ have-”

“Whoa, dude.” She wasn't sure if she liked Ford but she didn't like the way that tone of voice was headed. “It's okay. I'm just glad I found you. But, um.” She looked around at the three of them and she didn't want to say it but it had to get said eventually.

“Where's Stan?”

And there it was. The looks on their faces, the hesitation, the way they all traded glances like no one wanted to be the one to say it, whatever _it_ was, and the ice cubes were back.

“He's fine,” Mabel said. “He's...he's going to be...”

“He's inside,” Ford said, very quietly. “Resting.”

He didn't say anything else, so she took a deep breath and started walking, because clearly whatever it was she was going to have to see for herself. Not dead. Alright. She could work with that. Whatever it was, she could work with it. After everything they'd gotten through, they could get through _this_. Surely.

She imagined all the worst things she could as she walked up onto the porch, trying to swallow them all down, trying to prepare herself: injury, disfigurement, blood, things missing, things twisted. Instead she saw Stan sitting comfortably in his old armchair, holding a book. Soos was sitting on the floor next to him, looking like he'd been crying, but aside from that about the most horrible unsettling thing she could see was that Stan's bowtie was undone.

So what the hell?

She let out her breath all at once. “Hey, Mr. Pines!”

He blinked and turned towards her, and-

Something was wrong, she knew, she felt it in the pit of her stomach, even before he smiled uncertainly and said, “Uh...hello. Do I know you?”

“That's...that's not very funny, Mr. Pines,” she said, trying to be angry, frustrated like you always had to be a little bit when you were dealing with Stan, but her voice cracked on the way out.

What was _worse_ was the look on his face, which was not _anything_ like Stan. Not angry, not grousing, not that little spark of mischief in the eye. He just looked like a little kid who'd been told off and didn't know why.

“I'm sorry,” he said.

She whipped her head around and stared at Ford, who was still in the doorway.

“He's lost his memory,” Ford said heavily. He didn't turn around. “He...it should be...he's remembering some things already. So I have hope...”

She kept staring at him. Behind her, she heard Soos saying, “That's Wendy, Mr. Pines. She works for you.”

“Oh, like you do?”

“Yeah! See, here she is in this picture...”

“How?” Wendy said. Probably she should be more tactful right now but screw it, she didn't have it in her, not now. “Did he hit his head, or...”

“No.” She could tell by the _very definite_ way Ford said it that she'd hit on something there. Abruptly he turned his head and looked at her with an intensity so strong and sudden she almost took a step back. The glare of the headlights made all the lines of his face harsh and stark and he looked somewhat more like she thought he was _supposed_ to, but also somehow not.

“Listen,” he said, like he was giving her the most important information in the world. “When you go back to town, tell them-tell everyone...it was Stan. He saved us. He's the hero. You have to tell them that.”

Wendy looked at him, propped up in the doorway and staring at her like all their lives depended on what he had just told her. Looked at Stan in his chair, looking at the scrapbook like a kid, looking _small_ , while beside him Soos sat on the floor with his eyes all rimmed red and exhaustion ground into his face. Looked at the kids on the porch standing close to each other, bruised and beaten up and still putting _monumental_ effort into being brave. Looked at this whole family scattered around the ruins of their home, all desperate and determined and battered and tired and _lost_ -and right then she made an executive decision.

“Tell them yourself,” she said. “I'm taking you guys back to town with me.”

Everyone stared back at her. Ford frowned like he couldn't quite process the words. “Er...”

“Dude, you guys can't stay here!” The looks on all their faces made it clear they hadn't really considered this. Somehow. “This place is like, _condemned._ And you all look one hundred percent _done_ for. I mean, do you have _any_ food here? Running water? _Lights?_ ”

The kids and Soos- so, basically, the kids-all spoke up at once in protest. “We're not leaving the Shack!” “It's our home!” “We can't just give up on it now-”

“Whoa, whoa, time out.” She held her hands up and waited for them to stop. “Calm down, guys, I don't mean, like, _forever_. Just for _tonight_. Everyone here looks like they need a square meal and like, two days of sleep. So come back with me-I stole Thompson's van, so we should all fit-and we'll get you put up somewhere and then we can see about fixing up the shack when we're all in better shape, okay?”

There was a round of looks exchanged among the family. Finally Ford-who evidently was the current reigning Responsible Adult, if only by default-said, “That's...probably the best idea, under the circumstances.”

Wendy sighed in relief. “Okay. So-”

“Wait-I-have-to-get-some-stuff!” Mabel ran past, almost bowling Wendy over. Dipper followed her, a little less energetically; it looked like they were making for the attic, or whatever was left of it.

“Be careful up there!” Ford called after them. “This house is not very structurally stable at the moment!”

There was no response. Wendy rolled her eyes.

“Okay, Mr. Pines,” Soos said. His usual Soos-ness seemed a bit forced, but he was trying. “How about we get you into the van?”

“I'm an amnesiac, Soos, not an invalid,” Stan griped. “What, are you gonna get me a walker next?”

Wendy almost _cried_.

“What?” Stan demanded, glaring back at her. “What are you looking at?”

She had to swallow hard a few times before she was able to grin back at him like this was all normal, another day in the Shack trading barbs with her cranky crusty grouchy wonderful boss who maybe wasn't completely gone after all. “Maybe a walker would be a good idea,” she said, catching Soos's eye. “You are, like, a senior citizen, man.”

Stan narrowed his eyes at her. “How much do I pay you?” he said. “Because however much it is, it's too much.”

Wendy started laughing, and somehow she couldn't seem to stop, not the whole time Soos escorted Stan out to the van, Stan clutching the scrapbook like a life preserver and looking at her like she was crazy, which, she supposed, she was a bit right now. She followed them out on the porch and sat down on the edge, still giggling a little.

From the corner of her eye she saw Ford come away from where he had moved out of the doorway and slowly sit down on the opposite side of the steps. He moved-well, the phrase _like an old man_ came to mind, but not much like this particular old man. One of the only times she'd seen Ford out and about in the Shack, he had come running into the gift shop chasing something or other that had gotten free, and by the time she had watched him chase it out into the yard and up a tree before punching it to the ground, jumping on it, and wrestling it into submission, she had enough evidence to conclude that however old the guy might have been, he was in better shape than some lumberjacks she knew.

Right now, though, he was clearly not doing so hot. It was hard to tell in the bad light, but he seemed drawn and pale, and one hand was clamped to his side. Well, he _had_ spent a lot of time this past week as a gold statue. That probably couldn't be good for anyone's well-being.

She wasn't sure, really, what to think about him. She hadn't been, ever since he'd turned up. Not that she'd ever gotten the whole story about him, exactly, but she knew the gist of it; Soos had gone on about it for like two days, which was enough time for even Soos to make some kind of sense. She knew he was Stan's twin brother, who had gotten...lost, or something, because of some crazy experiment, and Stan had spent thirty years trying to replicate that to get him back. He'd even taken his brother's identity, which honestly didn't really faze her much because she'd pretty much always assumed that Stan was operating under at least one false identity, probably more like three or four.

She knew the two of them were estranged because...well, that much was pretty obvious to anyone who bothered to look. Not that she really got all the _why_ behind that, but she knew Stan had been kicked out of his home when he was a kid over it. Soos had cried for about half an hour when he told her that part. She knew from Dipper's rather manic ramblings on the subject that the experiment was dangerous, and that made Ford angry, angry that Stan would risk that danger even to bring him back. And she knew that had to be a sore, sore point between them because it had, after all, very nearly doomed the entire world.

Her instinct was to not like Ford very much for that, mostly because she liked Stan. It was sort of hard to _not_ like Stan in some way, once you actually got to know _him_ and not just the bluster and gruffness and sleazy showmanship. He had given her a job, a place to _be_ , at a time when she had very much needed to not be at home; and as much as he groused and threatened to fire her about five times a day and sometimes threw newspapers at her, he really wasn't that bad of a boss. Alright, and not _just_ because of the amount of slacking off she could get past him.

Because...when she'd first started working at the Shack she'd been-well, not careful, exactly, but snide, keeping her retorts under her breath and her eyerolls behind his back, hiding it all away like she was _supposed_ to, until one day when everything was especially bad he'd turned to her and said, “Look, kid, I don't care if you wanna be insolent. Just put some _effort_ into it, fer cryin' out loud.”

She'd stared at him, hating him, hating herself, hating everything in the whole stupid mean pointless world, and right then she'd let fly with a tirade of the foulest, angriest, most insulting language she knew. It lasted five minutes and at the end of it Stan cackled and gave her a soda and some tips on how to _really_ curse someone out.

He cared about people. She knew that much, for all that he tried to hide it. She knew he cared about her because of the way he had said, once, very quietly, almost shyly, “I know what it's like. To miss someone,” and then suddenly gave her a bone-crunching hug which he would forevermore deny had ever happened. She knew he cared about Soos because every time his birthday came around and he slunk into work all quiet and morose Stan would fire off a constant stream of the absolute worst jokes of all time until the handyman couldn't help but crack a smile. She knew he cared about the kids because...well. He didn't even _try_ to hide that.

And she knew he had to care about his brother, to have spent so long working to bring him back. Thirty years-that was her whole _life_ twice over. She could barely get her head around that. Alright, so maybe it was dangerous, but c'mon, this was Gravity Falls; if Stan wasn't threatening to destroy the universe, something else would pick up the slack by next week.

So she'd not been too sure about this brother, about the way he treated Stan, the way any mention of him seemed to make Stan clam up and hunch in on himself and look old and tired and sad. Not that she said anything about it-the kids loved their new grunkle, especially Dipper, who was in total awe of his mysterious hero. It wasn't her place to ruin that, and it wasn't like anyone had asked her anyway.

But whatever she thought about him, right now the guy looked so utterly, thoroughly miserable that it was impossible not to feel bad for him.

“Hey,” she said, and then faltered, realizing that she wasn't _really_ sure what to call him. She knew his name, of course-except even that was weird, because it was _Stan's_ name, which was not in fact Stan's name after all-but just calling him _Ford_ felt a little off, a name that wasn't really hers to use because that was the sort of name that always had “my brother” or “my uncle” lingering somewhere in front of it. And she wasn't about to call him Mr. Pines because Mr. Pines was in the van arguing with Soos and she wasn't going to give _that_ name to anyone else.

Mr. Stan's Jerk Brother? Stan Two? Probably not the best idea at the moment. Dr. Pines? That was what Soos called him and it was probably her best bet, although imitating Soos was always a risky endeavor. He didn't look like any kind of doctor but he was definitely a Smart Guy so he had probably picked up the right to use the title somewhere or other.

Okay. Dr. Pines.

And maybe, if she had not been exhausted and punchdrunk on stress and adrenaline and caught somewhere between giddy relief and devastation, she would have _actually_ said that like a sensible person, instead of just up and saying, “Hey. Count Rugen.”

_dammit dammit dammit NO that was NOT it that was NOT the right thing to say_

She waited for him to be angry but he just stared at her in total, blank confusion. “I'm sorry?”

Wendy did some quick math in her head. “Right. I guess you missed that movie.”

Ford sighed and folded up a little bit more. “I missed a lot of things.”

Oh god, oh god, this was just getting worse and worse. “Forget I said that!” she blurted out, a little too loudly. Ford was looking more and more lost by the moment. “What I _meant_ was...I mean...I was just...look, man, are you okay? Ugh, no, no, stupid question, no one's _okay_ right now but...are you...you look like you're going to pass out on me or something, dude, and I don't know if I can handle that right now.”

Ford shifted a little. He still had that hand clamped to one side, like he was trying to hold something in place. “I'm fine.”

She stared at him for a moment. “Okay, so...you're a terrible liar. Got it.”

Ford opened his mouth and then closed it again, looking completely nonplussed. Wendy snorted. “Dude, I've had _Stan_ for a boss for like, three years now. I've seen some good lying, and that? That was not it.”

He glared back at her for a moment like he was seriously going to try to keep up the pretense, but then he shrugged and most of the determination evaporated off his face. “It's...nothing that serious. I've had much worse.”

Oh, _god_. He was like her _dad_.

“And that's relevant _how_ , exactly?” she snapped.

Ford was back to giving her the confused-owl look. She sighed. “Look, I don't know if you _realize_ this, but if you get hurt once, that doesn't have to, like, set the bar for the entire rest of your life. You know, people can survive all kinds of crazy stuff and then die because they tripped and fell down the stairs or something.”

“Uh,” Ford said. “That...maybe be true, but...”

“So you're gonna see a doctor when we get to town, right,” she prompted.

Ford coughed awkwardly. The brief flash of pain this sent across his face didn't help his case any. “It's nothing anyone needs to worry about. I can take care of it.”

Then, quietly, like someone not really intending to actually say something out loud, “ _I'm_ not the one-”

He stopped.

Wendy followed his gaze to the van.

She didn't know just what had happened, but she could guess, maybe, a little part of it.

Okay, well, fine. She could play dirty.

“Sure,” she said. “I mean, I'm sure the kids would be totally fine if their grunkle collapses in front of them or whatever. They haven't had enough trauma for one day yet.”

Ford jerked his head around, the look on his face equal parts anger and horrified realization. She met his gaze without flinching. Cool as a bag of ice.

There were footsteps on the stairs behind them. Ford glanced back into the house and sighed. “Fine.”

Wendy grinned.

The kids came tumbling out of the doorway, each wearing an over-stuffed backpack. Dipper was carrying what looked like a camera case and some notebooks, while Mabel was struggling to contain a giant stuffed animal of indeterminate species, an extra sweater, and another scrapbook. Ford blinked at them. “Kids, is all that really necessary-”

“Uh- _huh!_ ” Mabel insisted. “Look, I brought my backup scrapbook, and Dipper's got his journals and the camera with all the videos we took! So we can keep showing Grunkle Stan stuff!”

“Oh.” Ford looked taken aback, but after a moment he offered up a wavering smile. “I...retract my statement, then. That...that was good thinking.”

“And Mr. Hufflepotamus is _definitely_ necessary,” Mabel went on, trying to gesture with the stuffed animal and almost dropping it.

“Oh, absolutely,” Ford said, with utmost seriousness.

“ _And_ I brought you a replacement sweater.” She juggled her burdens for a moment before managing to extricate the sweater and holding it out. “Since yours is all torn up and stuff. I was going to give it to you as a good-bye present, but I thought...” She stopped for a moment, some of the insistent cheer sliding off her face. “I thought...tonight was a good night for new sweaters.”

Ford took the sweater carefully, almost reverently. It was red, like his battered turtleneck, and there seemed to be a design picked out on the front, though Wendy couldn't make it out. “You...you _made_ this for me?”

“Yep!” Mabel beamed at him. “I like making sweaters.”

Dipper groaned loudly. “ _That's_ an understatement.”

“I...thank you. It's wonderful.” Ford folded it neatly and held it against his chest. “I'll treasure it.”

Mabel squinted at him. “Aren't you going to put it on?”

Ford coughed again. “Erm-”

Mabel's face crumpled. Ford looked suitably horrified. “I-I mean, of _course_ I'll put it on, just-just not right now this minute, okay? I...I'm all dirty and sweaty right now, and I wouldn't want to mess up my new gift.”

Mabel didn't look like she was entirely convinced-probably, Wendy thought, because she _also_ had spent enough time with Stan to know a terrible lie when she heard it-but she just shrugged and said, “Okay.”

“Can we _go_ already?” Dipper broke in. “My arms are getting _super_ tired.”

“Right. Yes. Of course.” Ford levered himself up slowly, stiffly. He glanced at Wendy a little suspiciously as they all made for the van. “Do you...actually have a driver's license?”

“Nope. But I out-drove a bunch of escaped convicts through a maze of weirdness bubbles, so I figure I can make it back into town.”

“...Maybe I should drive,” Ford said.

Wendy cocked an eyebrow at him. “Oh yeah? Do _you_ have a driver's license?”

“Um...well...technically...”

There was some stifled giggling from behind them, but when Ford and Wendy turned around the twins were looking completely serious. The giggling started up again as soon as they looked away.

“Look, that's not the point,” Ford said. “The point is...”

“The point is _you're_ not driving anywhere,” Wendy said, throwing a significant look at the hand Ford still had around his side. “So-”  
“Guys,” Dipper said, still sounding as though he were barely holding back laughter. “How about Soos drives?”

On cue, Soos poked his head out of the driver's side window. “Way ahead of you, dawg.”

The twins scrambled into the very back of the dingy old van, while Wendy and Ford took the middle seat. Stan had already been installed in the front.

“You guys took long enough,” he grumbled.

“Yeah, yeah,” Wendy said, trying not to grin _too_ hard at Stan sounding like his old self.

 

The trip back into town was quiet and slow. Slower than it necessarily needed to be, actually; Wendy knew from experience that the rickety old van could go pretty fast under the right circumstances, but she suspected that Soos was taking the bumpy road out from the Shack especially slow to avoid jostling anyone's sore spots. She could appreciate that; she felt like one big walking ache, and she hadn't even been particularly injured, as far as things went.

Dusk was falling quickly now, and the trees lining the road cast heavy shadows all around them. Wendy tried not to shudder. She had never, ever been bothered by things like that before-she was a _Corduroy_ , for crying out loud, the woods were in her _blood_ -but just now, everything felt a little bit like a threat. After all, it hadn't been that long since being murdered by trees was, in fact, just one of many wonderful possibilities in her future.

“What was that you called me earlier?” Ford suddenly said, softly but not so much so that she didn't jump.

“Oh,” Wendy hedged, well aware that the twins were listening. “Uh. Nothing important. Just a guy from a movie.”

Ford raised his eyebrows. “I take it I bear some resemblance?”  
Wendy sighed. She really had _not_ meant to say that. She did _not_ want to tell the entire Pines family that she'd maybe sort of casually nicknamed one of them after a movie villain, just to herself, because she had thought he was kind of a jerk. Especially not right _now_. But Ford was looking at her expectantly and the kids were waiting and she could tell that even Stan and Soos were listening in and well, she'd gotten her own self into this so she'd have to get herself out.

“It's the fingers,” she said. “He had six fingers on one hand.”

“Oh,” Ford said. In the gloom under the trees she couldn't see his expression.

She took a deep breath. “And I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I shouldn't have said that, because he was the villain and it...it was a dumb thing to say. But he had six fingers and someone spent a long time looking for him and he was kind of a scientist and he had a secret underground lab with a hidden entrance and I-”

“ _Wendy!_ ” Mabel yelled from the back seat. “Did you-”

“Yes, I called your uncle the villain from _The Princess Bride_ ,” Wendy said. “I'm sorry. It's been a _really_ long day.”

There was a long, tense pause, and then Ford burst out laughing.

The twins started laughing too, and then Soos with his big belly laugh, and at that point Wendy had no choice but to join in. It was a kind of manic, hysterical, release-valve, my-god-we're-alive laughter, and it shook the whole car, and it felt a bit crazy but also pretty good.

“You-you're not mad?” Wendy asked when she finally started to catch her breath.

“I've been called much worse things than that,” Ford said, wiping his eyes and sending his glasses askew. “ _But_ you'll have to show me this film sometime.”

There was a gasp of horror from Mabel. “You haven't seen it?!”

“It came out in 1987, dood,” Soos said. “Missed it by five years.” He blinked back at them in the ensuing silence. “What? I know things.”

“That's it,” Mabel said, sounding determined in the way only Mabel making plans could. “We're definitely watching it before we go back.”

“It's been a long time since I watched a movie,” Ford said wistfully. “Actually, I can't quite recall...”

Mabel was loudly lamenting this tragedy and Dipper was throwing out rapid-fire suggestions for various sci-fi films he thought Ford might like when Stan said, out of nowhere, “Sixer.”

Ford's head jerked up. “ _What?_ ”

“That's...that's you, isn't it?” Stan was back to sounding hesitant and unsure. “I've had that name in my head but I wasn't sure...but it's you, isn't it? Six fingers...”

There was silence. The twins and Wendy stared at Ford, but he said nothing.

“Er...is that not right?” Stan asked eventually.

Ford drew in a long, shaking, sniffling breath, and it was only then that Wendy realized he'd been crying. “No, that's...that's right,” he said, wiping at his eyes again. “That's exactly right. Sixer. That's what you used to call me.”

“I knew it!” Stan said, grinning hugely. Then he faltered a little. “Used to...? I don't anymore?”

“Um...well, you...it's just been a while, that's all,” Ford said thickly. “It's...it's not important.”

“So why are ya cryin'?”

“I'm _not_ -” Ford began to protest, despite all evidence to the contrary. “I'm just...I'm just glad you remember.”

“Hmm.” Stan looked down at his own hands, like they were jogging some memory. “Both hands, right?”

“That's right.”

“An' your feet, too.”

“Er...yes.”

“Wait, _what?_ ” Mabel leaned forward, sticking her face as close to Ford's as she could get within the bounds of her seatbelt. “You have extra _toes_ , too? You never told us that!”

Ford shifted uncomfortably. “It's...not really that interesting?”

“Yes it _is!_ That means you have...” Mabel gasped. “ _Twenty-four digits!_ Imagine the possibilities!”

“...None...come to mind?”

“That's because you're not thinking _artistically!_ Listen-”

By the time they finally made it into town Mabel was still going on about her 'artistic possibilities', most of which involved nail polish or bedazzling, while Ford made various horrified noises and everyone else laughed themselves sick.

“I am never revealing anything about myself ever again,” Ford grumbled.

“Nah, it's cool,” Wendy told him, taking some pity on him. “You can be in the club with me and Dipper.”

“The what-” Ford began, but before Wendy could answer him they pulled into the town square and were met with an eruption of noise.

The whole town, or very nearly, was packed into the square, standing in tight huddles or sitting on blankets or the hoods of cars or, in one case, perched on the shoulder of the Nathaniel Northwest statue. Light spilled out all around from the buildings lining the square, which had their doors flung open. People had dragged out furniture, camping lanterns, coolers full of drinks and food; someone was cooking something on a grill, while off to one side people were being treated in the back of a parked ambulance turned impromptu clinic. The whole setup looked like a bizarre cross between a block party and a refugee camp.

The van attracted immediate attention. Within a few moments almost the entire crowd was surging forward, all shouting over each other. Soos and the kids scrambled to get out, but Stan seemed confused and a bit overwhelmed, and Ford was holding himself rigid with a very odd look on his face.

Wendy followed the kids, figuring she'd let the old guys make it out in their own time. Mabel was being embraced, or possibly crushed to death, by Grenda and Candy-mostly Grenda- while Dipper seemed to be getting some kind of celebratory piggyback ride from Lee. Everyone was pushing forward, chattering, asking a storm of questions: _where were they? What happened? Is everyone alright? How did they do it?_

Things only quieted down when Stan and Ford got out of the van.

All eyes were on them-something Stan should have been eating up, Wendy thought sadly, but right now he just seemed uncertain and intimidated by the attention. Ford had one protective hand on his brother's shoulder, his face tight and his eyes flicking back and forth rapidly as if looking for possible escape routes.

There was silence. The crowd waited, but Stan clearly had no idea what to say and Ford looked like he was on the verge of panic.

Then the kids shouldered their way over and stood beside them. Dipper took Ford's free hand in his own, awkward and a little shy but determined, looking up at him with a smile that said _I believe in you,_ while Mabel simply glomped onto Stan's entire arm and beamed like the sun.

Stan beamed back, not knowing what was going on but still loving his great-niece and nephew as much as ever, while Ford shifted his shoulders, took a deep breath, and finally spoke.

“Bill Cipher is dead.”

A murmur went around the crowd. Wendy felt-something. Like something inside her that had been stretched tight had finally eased up. She hadn't realized how much she had really needed to hear those words, that finality.

From somewhere in the back of the crowd a voice with an unmistakable Southern twang rose above the rest. “Weeeellll, good goddamn riddance to bad geometry, I say! How'd ya do it, Stanford?”

Among the admonishments of _there are_ children _here, McGucket!_ and the giggling of said children, Ford shook his head and said, “It wasn't me. It- _this_ is the man you have to thank.” He squeezed his hand on Stan's shoulder. “This is your hero. He saved us all.”

The murmuring this time was more confused.

“You're tellin' us _Stanford Pines_ averted the apocalypse?” Wendy couldn't find Gideon in the crowd, but his petulant voice was unmistakable.

Ford frowned. “What? No. I just said- _Stanley_ did.”

A sea of confused faces looked back at him. Dipper muttered something and Ford groaned in realization. “Oh, right. That whole thing.”

“Dunno what you're going on about, but that _is_ Stanford Pines,” someone said.

“Who are _you,_ anyway?” someone else added.

“It's a long story-” Ford began, but the crowd had already started up again; people who had been present on the ill-fated mission to rescue Ford were trying to explain it to everyone else, most of whom were shouting out their own theories or questions instead of listening.

It only ended when Mabel put two fingers in her mouth and let out an absolutely ear-piercing whistle that cut through the noise like a knife. Wendy was impressed.

“It's very simple,” Mabel explained to the rather stunned crowd. “This is our Grunkle Stanley...” She tapped one hand against Stan's arm; he looked bemused but ruffled her hair affectionately.

“...And this is our Grunkle Stanford.” She let go of Stan and did a dramatic gesture towards Ford like she was introducing him at a concert. “They're twins like me and Dipper! But Grunkle Ford fell through a portal a long time ago so Grunkle Stan had to pretend to be him until he could get him back. But now they're both here, so Grunkle Stan can go back to being Stanley! Right?” she added, glancing back at Ford.

“Er...more or less,” he said.

Mabel took a bow and stepped back to Stan's side. “Grunkle Ford, you have the floor.”

“...Thank you, Mabel.” Ford coughed awkwardly. “The _important thing_ now is that it's Stan we have to thank for saving us.”

This was met with some good-natured skepticism. “What, did he con Bill into giving up?” someone called out.

 _“Yes,”_ Ford said.

In the surprised silence that followed, Ford gently let go of Dipper's hand and took something out of his coat pocket.

It didn't prompt a very dramatic reaction. Of course not: nearly everyone in town had seen that device at some point, but they'd all forgotten it soon after. All but a few people, like the Pines and Soos and McGucket and Wendy, who was suddenly remembering looking down the bulb of the gun, waiting for the flash of light, waiting for a part of her _self_ to be erased, being saved at the last minute-and _Stan had lost his memories_ , and the way Ford had said _no_ , and oh, oh no...

“Bill was a...a powerful entity from another world,” Ford said, the words coming with the hesitation of someone trying to explain something very complex in simple terms. “Once he gained physical form in our world, he was all but unstoppable...but he wasn't omnipotent. He had some limitations. He couldn't spread his influence very far outside Gravity Falls at first...I...I had the information he needed to do that...”

He paused, swallowed hard, and kept going. “This gun...it can erase memories. It can erase a person's mind. Bill always had the ability to enter minds...it was the one place where he was vulnerable. So we tricked him...made him think Stan was me, and would give him the information he wanted...he entered Stan's mind, and I...I erased him.

Unfortunately that meant erasing Stan as well.”

A horrified hush fell.

Wendy realized she was crying, and didn't even care. She wasn't alone. Tears were streaming down Soos's face, and the kids looked like they were about to start too.

“You mean he's gone? Stan's just...gone?”

Wendy wasn't sure who said it.

“He's not gone!” Mabel yelled. “He's gonna come back!”

“Stan's regained a few memories already,” Ford said. “In time, he...he should recover.”

Abruptly he threw an arm around his brother's shoulder and pulled him close. Stan still seemed confused and upset by the attention, but he hugged his brother back.

“Is there anything _we_ can do?” Mayor Tyler piped up at last.

There was an agreeable murmur from the rest of the crowd. Ford looked taken aback. “Er...well, yes. Anything that would help jog his memory, visual reminders, anecdotes...”

“WELL WHAT ARE WE STANDIN' AROUND _HERE_ FOR?!” Wendy's dad bellowed, and before anyone quite knew what was happening the crowd was sweeping a bewildered Stan into the center of the square, chattering excitedly. Soos ran after them, yelling things like “Make way for Mr. Pines!” and “Town hero coming through!”

“Half of them are probably going to try to _remind_ him that he owes them money,” Dipper said dryly as he, Mabel and Wendy followed after the crowd.

“Heh, yeah. Probably best to keep an eye on things,” Wendy agreed. It was weird; she seemed to still be crying, but she was also grinning her face off. Well, her bar for _weird_ had been set pretty dang high lately, so she figured she could deal with this.

She became aware that something was missing right about the same time that Mabel called out, “Grunkle Ford, aren't you coming?”

They all turned. Ford was still standing by the van, holding the memory gun. Wendy couldn't quite figure out the expression on his face. There might have been grief there, and also maybe pride...but mostly he looked lost, like he had no idea what was going on or what he should be doing.

“Hey,” she said. “You made a promise.”

The twins gave her confused looks. For a moment Ford just kept staring with that lost expression, long enough that she wasn't sure he'd even heard her; but then, finally, he put the memory gun away and straightened up a little.

“Technically,” he said, “I believe all I said was...”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever. Get your butt over there.” She jerked her head towards the ambulance-clinic.

“Grunkle Ford...?” Mabel looked back and forth between Wendy and Ford. “What did you promise...?”

Wendy sighed. She really hadn't wanted to bring this up in front of the kids, but it was clear Ford wasn't going to go anywhere without a fair amount of prompting.

“He said he'd go see a doctor when we got into town,” she told the twins, and winced when Dipper's face creased in anxiety and Mabel gasped in horror.

“Grunkle Ford, are you _hurt?_ ” she cried, running back towards him and grabbing his legs in a hug. Ford glared at Wendy. Wendy shrugged.

“I'm alright. I'm just...just a little bruised.” He ruffled Mabel's hair awkwardly.

Mabel looked up at him with an expression of such fierceness that Ford seemed startled. “Well, what are you _waiting_ for, then? If you're hurt you should go see the doctor!”

She grabbed his hand and started trying to tug him across the square. “What's wrong? Are you scared? I'll go with you!”

“No!” Ford yelped, and then instantly bit his lip in chagrin. “No, I...I don't think that would be a good idea...”

“Havin' problems?”

Wendy jumped so hard her boots almost left the ground. Old Man McGucket had appeared next to her and Dipper. How, exactly, he'd gotten there, she had no idea. For a crazy old hillbilly/mad scientist he could unnervingly stealthy.

“Grunkle Ford won't go to the doctor,” Dipper explained, adjusting his hat, which had gone askew from him having jumped even more than Wendy.

“Ahhh,” McGucket said sagely. “Ah'm familiar with this syndrome.”

“You...wait, what?”

“Ahyup! Used ta see this all th' time back in th' ol' university days. Ah had to drag Stanford to th' nurse at least once ah semester. He never would take care a' himself properly.”

Wendy was having trouble processing all this. “You...wait...you guys were in college together?”

“Aye, those were th' days.” McGucket hobbled over to Ford and put a surprisingly gentle hand on his shoulder. “C'mon, buddy. Ah'll go if you will.”

“I suppose I'm not getting out of this,” Ford muttered, looking around at the expectant faces. Wendy crossed her arms and smirked.

“Alright, alright.” Ford finally let McGucket pull him in the direction of the ambulance. As they passed, Wendy could have sworn she heard Ford muttering something about a tattoo, to which McGucket replied, “Don' worry, Ah'm good at forgettin' things.”

Mabel sniffed loudly. Wendy and Dipper turned to her in surprise.

“Mabel, it's...it's okay,” Wendy said. “I think they're both gonna be just fine.”

“I _know!_ ” Mabel bawled. “Look at them! They're _getting along!_ They're two stupid old dorks who hated each other and now they're _friends_ again! It's...it's so... _heartwarming!_ ”

Dipper rolled his eyes and groaned. “C'mon,” he said, putting an arm around his sister. “Let's go get some food.”

“And make sure Stan isn't getting conned too badly,” Wendy added as they walked across the square.

“Yeah, that too.”

 

Evening stretched into night, but no one went home. There was nothing remotely organized about the gathering, not even any kind of agreement about what they were all doing out there in the first place, just a general unspoken consensus that no one really wanted to be alone just yet. Later there might be some kind of discussion about what had happened, or perhaps not, but for the moment they were, against all odds, alive and intact, and they were going to make a hell of a fuss about it. People formed rings around lanterns or makeshift campfires and passed around food; the Hermanos Brothers had set up a grill and were cooking up a storm, supplemented by whatever could be found from houses and restaurants and grocery stores all across town, while Lazy Susan was serving coffee and hot chocolate from a camp stove. No one seemed to be especially concerned about paying for anything, or about the fact that here and there some distinctly non-human silhouettes could be seen-although the gnomes occasionally had to get smacked aside when they tried to make off with peoples' plates.

In the middle of it all, most of the members of the rescue team had coalesced into an unofficial group. The twins and Soos sat next to Stan, who periodically had people wander over and offer up some anecdote or evidence of their history with him. Mabel's friends were clumped up next to her, while a little ways away Pacifica sat trying and failing to look haughty and distant. Robbie and Tambry sat with their arms around each other, looking completely sickening, but as long as they were being sickening with each other Wendy didn't much care. Gideon was perched in a camp chair being annoyingly ingratiating and thoroughly ignored. There was also a manotaur, improbably still wearing one of Mabel's sweaters, and all of the Sev'ral Timez members. Probably all of them, anyway. Wendy never could keep track of exactly how many there were.

She was sitting on the hood of someone's car parked near the statue, drinking a Pitt Cola and trying to get her head around the fact that it hadn't even been twelve hours since all this had been wasteland and the end of the world was nigh, when Ford finally came back.

His coat and sweater were slung over one shoulder, leaving him down to a dingy old black t-shirt that he must have had on underneath. There were clean new bandages around his neck and both wrists, and a few plasters stuck here and there over the patchwork of scars and tattoos that covered his arms. He stood off to the side, almost standoffishly, looking in on the gathering with an expression that Wendy realized she found familiar. She had seen it on kids at school dances, sometimes, and on Dipper as he lingered at the edges of parties at the Shack, and she had seen it very occasionally on Stan: the look of someone on the outside who had already convinced themselves they would never be allowed in.

No one else noticed him for the moment. The group was laughing over a story about Stan and a fishing trip he had taken with the kids. Mabel and Soos were providing enthusiastic sound effects and gesticulations. Ford leaned against the car Wendy was sitting on and watched with a fond, wistful smile.

“Hey,” Wendy said, quiet-like. “Nice tats.”

Ford gave her an absolutely withering look, but it relaxed slightly after a moment. “I've been meaning to ask someone,” he said, in the same low tone. “How has tattoo removal technology progressed in the past thirty years?”

“Aw, c'mon.” She nudged him with an elbow-very gently, remembering that hand clenched tight at his side. “I'm serious. They're actually pretty cool.”

He rolled his eyes. “Not all of them. Anyway,” he added hastily, coughing awkwardly, “they're not all...needed...anymore. Per se.”

She didn't know what _that_ meant, but it probably wasn't something she really needed to know. “I'll look something up for you,” she said. “I might know a guy. Or Stan might-”

She stopped.

Ford said nothing.

They sat for a moment in silence. The story seemed to have somehow turned into an account of a high-speed boat chase, although Dipper was ranting about cameras for some reason.

“I gotta ask you something,” Wendy said finally.

Ford cocked an eyebrow.

“It's...not a very nice question,” she said, not sure why she was telling him that, not sure why she would care about being _nice_ about this. Ford just shrugged.

“I'm not sure I deserve _nice_ right now,” he said quietly.

She fiddled with her soda can, pulling the tab back and forth, not sure how to put it, not sure what to do with this question that had been squirming around in her stomach all hot and clawed and horrible ever since Ford had pulled out the memory gun, ever since he had told them what had happened to Stan. What he had done to Stan.

“Why did you switch?”

Ford blinked at her. “What?”

“You and Stan...I mean...if _you_ were the one who had what Bill wanted...why did Stan have to...”

“Ah,” he said. He didn't sound angry, exactly-or at least, he didn't sound angry at _her_. “You think I should have been the one to...make the sacrifice.”

“ _No_ ,” she said, and she meant it, she really did. “I don't think anyone _should_ have had to do that. I just...”

...had been sitting there turning it around and around in her head, trying to find a reason, trying to imagine how they had worked it out. Trying not to imagine Ford deciding that it was better for his brother to take the fall than him. Trying to imagine some reason that did not involve Stan being judged to be _less_.

But she couldn't work out how to get it out, so in the end she said, “I just want to know how you decided.”

“We didn't,” he said. “Although, for the record, I agree with you.”

She wasn't sure what she'd expected him to say, but none of that was remotely it. “...uh, what?”

“It should have been me.” He sighed and leaned against the car. “It was supposed to be me. I was prepared for it to be me. It would have been...right. I started this mess. I should have been the one to clean it up. For thirty years...I didn't _expect_ to get any kind of happy ending...all I wanted was to be able to take Bill down with me. And now...”

There was that look again, that _lost_ look, only now it was so much worse.

“Uh, yeah, okay, you do realize that has nothing to do with what I said,” she said. “I don't think...I guess I just...it just seems like kind of a risk, ya know? I mean, what if he caught on that you had switched? I mean I'm sure you had a reason, I just...”

 _I just really need to know what it was_.

“It was a gamble, to be sure,” Ford said. He rubbed a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more ridiculously than usual. “But we didn't have a choice. The memory gun wouldn't work on me.”

“You...what? Why not?”

“I took precautions a long time ago, to protect myself from Bill,” Ford said. “It happens that they also prevent the effects of Fiddleford's device. I found that out...erm, rather accidentally.”

Wendy felt something that had been tight and twisted in her chest suddenly begin to ease away. “So you didn't...you didn't choose for Stan-”

“Sweet Moses, _no_.” Ford looked horrified. “It was his idea. If I'd had any choice...but we had so little time, Bill would have been back any moment, and he had the kids-”

“Hey, hey. Dude. I get it.” She was a little surprised to hear herself say it-so was he, to judge by the look he gave her-but she even as she did she realized that, actually, she _did_ get it. “What you did-I mean, it was a sucky thing to have to do, but I don't blame you for doing it. I just needed to know _why_.”

So she didn't have to hate him.

That was alright, then.

They sat there for a moment in considerably less tense silence.

“...'Sucky'?” Ford asked eventually.

“What? Oh, yeah. That's a thing us young folk say nowadays.”

“You're putting me on,” he said flatly.

 _Wait a minute, this guy's been gone for thirty years, how much fake slang could I convince him is totally a thing now? Wait. How much_ in general _can I convince him is a thing now..._

_...Stan would approve._

“Why are you smiling?” Ford asked suspiciously.

“What? Oh, uh. Nothing.” It wouldn't do to give herself away right off the bat. This was going to be a long-term con. Quick, change the subject. “So, uh-those precautions. Can you, like, elaborate on that? Because I gotta be honest, that gun kind of freaks me out.”

Ford smiled wryly. “I'm afraid my methods are rather more drastic than you would probably be comfortable with.”

“Try me.”

“I put a metal plate in my head.”

Wendy blinked at him. “No shit?”

Ford knocked on one temple, producing a highly incongruous metallic clang.

The sound happened to fall into a lull in the conversation, and suddenly everyone was looking at them. “Grunkle Ford!” Mabel squealed, launching herself off the blanket she had been sitting on and careening into Ford like a small glittery cruise missile.

Wendy was pretty sure she was the only one who heard the pained _oof_ noise Ford made, muffled as it was under Mabel's barrage of questions. “You're all bandaged up! What happened? Are you okay? I've never seen you with your sweater off you have _tattoos!_ ”

Ford returned his great-niece's embrace gently. “I'm fine. Just...had some burns, that's all. Bill...er, well, never mind.”

A queasy silence fell. Everyone was looking at Ford; Ford desperately tried to look anywhere else. Mabel's eyes had gone absolutely huge. Dipper came over and slipped his hand into hers, watching his great-uncle intently.

“I thought Bill just turned you into a statue,” Mabel said. “Did it hurt? Was that it?”

For a moment Wendy honestly thought Ford might bolt from the gathering altogether. But then the tension in his face seemed to melt into fatigue and something like sadness. He gently lowered himself to the ground and pulled both twins into a hug, one on either side.

“No, being a statue didn't hurt, not...not exactly,” he said. His voice was low and quiet, making everyone in the circle unconsciously lean in to listen. “But Bill found about the barrier that was keeping him trapped, and he guessed that I would know how to break it, so he unfroze me. He tried to convince me to give him the information willingly. I refused, of course, which was when he got a bit more...forceful.”

Wendy swallowed hard. She could see the expression that must have been on her face reflected all around her. They had all seen far too much of what Bill could do merely out of amusement or petty annoyance; her imagination balked to think of what he might be capable of with such a goal in mind.

“Grunkle Ford...” Mabel sounded like she was on the verge of tears. “You didn't _say_...”

“It's alright,” Ford said hurriedly. “He didn't have time to do much. Your rescue operation came right in the nick of time. When his minions couldn't take you down he turned me back to gold and left me where you found me.”

Dipper gasped. “So _that's_ why-”

He blushed and looked away as everyone stared at him.

“Hm?” Ford said. “Why what?”

“Why you...well...looked different.” Dipper tugged his hat over his eyes. “I thought...when we found you, you were in a different position...I thought Bill must have unfrozen you at some point but I couldn't figure out _why_.”

“...Yes,” Ford said awkwardly. “But I was able to watch you defeat his minions. It was the most incredible thing I've ever seen. I could hardly believe it. I was so _proud_.”

There was a brief pause, and then both Dipper and Mabel burst into loud tears.

Ford looked completely nonplussed as the twins sobbed into his t-shirt. “Um...there, there?”

“Oh, shove over.” Stan abruptly thumped down on the ground next to them. “I want in on this family hug action.”

Ford squawked in surprise as Stan wrapped all three of them in a bear hug, then again as Soos joined the pile with a wail. After a moment's hesitation, Wendy hopped off the car and joined in as well.

“Hey!” Stan barked at her with absolutely no force whatsoever. “This is a Pines hug.”

“I've saved all y'all's butts multiple times,” Wendy said. “I think I'm entitled to one family hug.”

Stan made a “pffff” noise but didn't protest further.

“I sincerely appreciate the sentiment behind this,” Ford said after a long moment, his voice just a little higher than usual, “but I also have some cracked ribs and-”

They quickly untangled, to the sound of a few disappointed noises from the observing crowd. Dipper wiped his face on his shirtsleeve, looking highly embarrassed, while Mabel sniffled loudly and unashamedly.

“I get why you didn't want to wear my sweater now,” she said.

Ford blinked. “Hm? Oh. Yes. Sorry about that...”

“It's alright. Wool's not exactly the best cure for burns. I learned that after the hair dryer incident,” Mabel said seriously, leaving Ford looking confused and bit concerned. “You can put it on when you feel better.”

“I certainly will,” Ford said with a smile. He coughed and rubbed at his wrists. “So-I heard something about a lake monster?”

 

It was later, when things were quieting down and people were starting to fall asleep on makeshift bedrolls or just on top of each other, when Ford shifted under the blanket he had somehow acquired and asked, “What club are you and Dipper in?”

Wendy, who had been starting to doze off in her chair, stared at him for several highly confused seconds before she realized what he was talking about. “Oh...you mean what I said in the car?”

“Mm.” Ford took a sip from the paper cup of cocoa Mabel had given him. “Not really important, I suppose...I just wondered.”

“We're in a club?” Dipper said sleepily. He was leaning against Soos, who apparently made quite a comfortable pillow. Mabel had started out leaning against Dipper but had slowly slumped down until she was almost flat on the blanket. Stan had wandered off a little while ago, saying something about wanting fresh air.

“Well, not really a club. More kind of an alliance, I guess?” She sat up a little and rubbed at her eyes. “You remember, when you showed me your birthmark?”

Her exhaustion-lagged brain realized a second too late that she should not have spilled that particular secret in front of everyone else. Dipper didn't seem to notice, though, or if he did he didn't care very much.

“Oh yeah...” He yawned so hard his teeth clicked. “Wait. I didn't realize you even remembered that.”

“Of course I did, dude! We had a bonding moment. It was great.” To Ford, who was looking confused, she added, “I showed Dipper a picture of me as a kid when I was like, super tall, and then he showed me his birthmark and we decided we'd be freaks together.”

Something shifted on Ford's face. “Freaks?”

Wendy realized with a sudden, awful jolt that she might have accidentally prodded a nerve there-but before she could say anything Mabel was wriggling upright and loudly protesting. “No fair! You guys made a freak club without me?”

“It was a private moment,” Dipper huffed, but then his face softened. “I guess you could still join, though.”

“I dunno,” Wendy said, feigning a serious tone. “Do you have anything that makes you really _unique_ -nope, nope, can't even finish that sentence with a straight face.”

“Yay! I'm a freak!” Mabel flopped back down on the blanket with a grin.

“Hey, what about me? Can I be in the freak club?” Soos said. “I was a pig once, if that counts. Oh, and a zombie. And I got shrunk that one time. And I had a crazy AI girlfriend. And-”

The twins cut him off. “Of course you're in the club, Soos.” “Yeah, no kidding. Like we'd leave you out.”

Soos pumped his fist in the air. “ _Yes!_ ”

“What about us?” a distinctive voice boomed.

Mabel put her arms around her friends. “Grenda. Candy. You are my 100% certified freak friends for life. As associate co-captain of the freak club, I officially-”

“What? No one made you associate co-captain,” Dipper protested.

“No one didn't _not_ make me associate co-captain,” Mabel countered. “Anywayyouguysareinnotakebacks!” she added hastily while Dipper tried to figure her last statement out.

“Oh, fine,” he muttered, flopping back onto the blanket. “But Wendy and I get to be co-captains, 'cause we founded it.”

“Well, of _course_ ,” Mabel said. “I do have _some_ respect for authority.”

“Can I join?” a quiet voice said, barely heard over Dipper loudly saying that he didn't know about _that_.

Silence fell at once. Everyone stared.

“ _Pacifica?_ ” Mabel said. “ _You_ want to be a freak?”

The blonde girl flushed and looked uncertain in the sudden attention, but she set her shoulders and lifted her chin stubbornly. “You've seen what my family are like,” she said. “If that's normal, then I...I don't want to be it.”

There was a long, uncertain pause. Dipper and Mabel glanced at each other, then back at Pacifica.

“Pacifica Elise Northwest,” Dipper said seriously. “As official co-captain of the freak club, I hereby grant you permission to join our ranks.”

All three of them looked over at Wendy. She shifted in her chair and shrugged. She'd never been able to stand the Northwest family-the rivalry between them and the Corduroys went back a long time- and not so long ago she would have been more than happy for any excuse to kick Little Miss Popularity to the curb. But then again, not so long ago she never would have imagined Pacifica standing up to her parents, or saying she wanted to be different from her family, or, for that matter, parachuting out of a robot house on a dangerous mission to save the world.

Anyway, she had more than evidence of what could happen when you held grudges.

“Oh, alright,” she said, affecting a disinterested look. “Permission co-granted.”

“Permission associate co-granted!” Mabel cried, and sprang up to shake Pacifica's hand. Rather hard, in fact; the poor girl looked a little whiplashed when Mabel finally let go, but she smiled ever so slightly. Dipper shook hands with her as well, more gently.

“So whaddya think?” Wendy asked Ford as the twins returned to their blanket. “Are you in?”

Ford looked down at his hands. There was a very strange expression on his face.

“Freak,” he said softly. “I used to be called that so often. It tormented me for years.”

Everyone looked around uncomfortably. Wendy winced and sank a little into her chair.

Ford didn't seem to notice. “That was what drove me here in the first place. I was looking for somewhere I would fit in, somewhere an anomaly like me could fit in...and then when I found it, I spent all my time pushing everyone else away from me. I was so used to being alone that I ensured that I stayed that way even when there was no need...and Bill used that against me. Even to the last he was taunting me by telling me how alike we were...”

“I saw that!” Dipper burst out. Ford looked at him sharply. “I saw him trying to tell you it was all your fault but it wasn't! I tried to stop him but-”

“You did _what?_ ” Ford cried. “Dipper, you were supposed to _run!_ ”

“I know, I know,” Dipper muttered, rubbing one hand up and down his arm. “It was stupid...I just got so _angry_. But then I didn't know what to do...I tried to punch him, but that didn't work...”

Ford opened and shut his mouth.

“Hold up, hold up.” Wendy sat all the way upright in disbelief. “You tried to _punch_ that jerk? With, like, your actual hands?”

“Yeah, kinda,” Dipper muttered. “I was aiming for his eye but he just threw me off. Into a tree.”

“Dude, that is _so_ badass,” she said, ignoring the strangled sound Ford was making.

“But-but I didn't _do_ anything!” Dipper protested. “It was a complete failure! It was _worse_ than a complete failure because all I did was get the journals destroyed! We'd still have them if I hadn't...”

Ford abruptly pulled him into a tight hug, causing Dipper to squeak in surprise. “That was extremely impressive, promise me you will never do anything like it again.”

Dipper squirmed a little. “I mean...I'm sort of hoping the opportunity never comes up.”

“Never do anything like that _in general_ again.” Ford released his great-nephew and put a hand on his shoulder. “Dipper, I don't care about the journals. Not anymore. I used to care far too much, and look where that got me. I'm just-beyond grateful that _you_ survived that encounter. And beyond terrified that it happened in the first place. And beyond amazed that you would stand up to Bill at the height of his power for _me_...I'm-I'm beyond a lot of things right now, to be honest. Look, just promise you won't do that again. Please.”

“I won't. I promise.”

Ford relaxed a little.

“If it's at all avoidable,” Dipper added.

“ _Dipper-_ ”

“But we don't have to keep talking about this if you don't want to!” Dipper rushed on, before Ford could get started again. “About the whole...the whole freak thing. I mean-I know things were really rough when you were a kid-and if you don't like this-”

Ford shook his head slowly. “Things _were_ rough for me. But unless I miss my guess, things have also been rough for you and your sister. And for Soos, for Wendy...I _know_ they were for Stan...for everything here, I'd imagine. But you are all still proud of being different. Being different _together_.”

He sighed heavily and ran his fingers over the bandages around his wrists. “I'm realizing now...far too late...that I _let_ Bill use that as a weapon against me. No, not just Bill. Everyone who ever mocked me or pushed me away...even myself. I let it take me over. I was different, but I let myself think that it set me apart forever, that I was the only one, that would no one would ever be like me or understand me...I let it define me. And it's cost me and everyone around me so much...”

No one quite knew what to say to that.

At last Ford looked up, a small, hesitant smile pulling at the side of his mouth. “I suppose what I'm trying to say is...I'd be honored to be in the freak club. If you're sure you want to have me.”

Wendy exchanged a look with the twins. The three of them stood up solemnly. Wendy put her hand over her heart like she was standing for the national anthem; Dipper took off his hat.

“Grunkle Ford,” Dipper said, with the utmost seriousness, “as official co-captain of the freak club, I hereby declare you a member.”

“Permission co-granted,” Wendy said.

“Permission associate co-granted,” Mabel said.

“Permission associate-associate co-”

“Soos, you're ruining the moment.”

“Sorry.”

Ford saluted crisply. “I accept the position with pride.”

“Amen!”

“Here, here!”

“Take back the freakiness!”

“Damn straight!” Wendy yelled, punching the air. “Why should we let Bill claim all the weirdness anyway?”

“Yeah! Just because he's a stupid giant triangle he thinks he has a monopoly on everything freaky?”

“Who does he think he is?”

“He doesn't think _anything_ anymore,” a gruff voice said from the sidelines. “I got that on good authority.”

They all turned. Stan was standing at the edge of the circle, his fez under one arm and a can of soda in the other hand.

“Stan-” Ford began.

“I leave you guys for five minutes and you start a club without me? Some bereaved friends and family you are.”

Ford spluttered. “Stan-that's not-we weren't-”

Stan snorted and turned to Wendy. “He always this easy to get riled up?”

“I'm going to say...yes,” Wendy said. “I don't know him that well, but...yes.”

“Thought so.” He perched on the edge of the car she had been sitting on earlier and took a long slurp of soda. “So, what's this club about? Can I join or what?”

“It's the freak club,” Mabel told him. “You can only join if you're a freak.”

“Oh yeah?” Stan raised his eyebrows. “Hm. I dunno if I'm a freak. I dunno much- hah! Amnesia! That's pretty freaky, right?”

Ford looked pained. “I'm sure it's temporary, Stan-”

“So you're saying I'd get kicked out of the freak club? Well that's no good.” Stan spread his hands in a dramatic show of requesting aid. “Help me out here, guys. What have I got that makes me eligible for the freak club?”

The answers came thick and fast.

“Uh, _saving the entire world?_ That's pretty unique.”

“You've been legally dead for thirty years!”

“You're into taxidermy, which is pretty freaky if you ask me.”

“You're _probably_ the only person ever to punch a pterodactyl with brass knuckles.”

“And zombies!”

“You have a cool hat!”

“You're _Mr. Mystery!_ ”

“You pulled off an amazing feat of dimensional engineering just to rescue some jerk from the mess he got himself into,” Ford said. “And you stuck by him, even when he was too wrapped up in his own head to appreciate all you did.”

Stan blinked. “I...I did what?”

Ford stood up, with some wincing, hobbled over to Stan, and threw an arm around his twin's shoulders. “Ladies and gentlemen of the freak club, in recognition of all his truly astounding accomplishments in the name of weirdness, of his long service to this weirdest of weird towns, of the sacrifices he has made to ensure the continued existence of the rest of us freaks, I make a motion to appoint Stanley Pines as our admiral.”

“I second that motion!” Mabel yelled.

“All in favor say aye!” Dipper added.

“ _AYE!_ ”

Stan blinked several times and hastily gulped at his soda. “I...I don't...”

“Do you accept this position?” Ford asked him seriously.

“I...I uh...” Stan looked at all the faces watching him earnestly. “I...I think I would be honored.”

A cheer went round. Stan cleared his throat and wiped a hand under his glasses. “Alright, alright! That's enough of that. I wanna issue my first decree as admiral of the freak club.”

“That was fast,” Wendy muttered.

“The power's gone to my head already. I'm a tyrant. I coulda warned you.” Stan took a long drink, deliberating letting the tension build. “My first decree...is that you all tell me that story about the pterodactyls, cause that sounds _incredible_.”

“It was _so_ incredible!” Mabel said. “You were like _bam!_ And the pterodactyl was like _awwwwk oh no I'm a pterodactyl and I'm being punched!_ ”

“You know,” Ford said, leaning against Stan a little, “I think I'd quite like to hear this story myself.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Wendy flopped back down in her chair. “I can't believe you guys didn't invite me on that one.”

“We didn't know what was going to happen! It all started when we went on a heroic mission to rescue Waddles...”

“No, it started _before_ that, Mabel. Back up.”

“That was when the important part started.”

Wendy grinned and leaned back as Dipper went on about chasing a pterodactyl through the woods with Soos.

They were here.

They were alive.

They were weird.

How did that old saying go? The king is dead; long live... _us._

 


End file.
